Christmas Music
by Nanashi
Summary: Quatre comes home for christmas, but the holidays are ruined by a fatal illness. Deathfic. 3x4, 1+2 ***finished***
1. Chapter One

Christmas music **Author'sNote**: Hi. This story was inspired by an episode I saw of 'Touched by an Angel', so basically I'm basing the plot on it. I'm not very original, am I? Oh, well. Never mind. Also, I'm perfectly aware that it is not Christmas, but it fit into the plot. So, please please please read and review! Thanks. ^_^ 

**Warning**: Shonen Ai, AU. That's all for now. More warnings for later chapters. 

**Disclaimer**: Both Gundam Wing and Touched by an Angel do _not_ belong to me. I am simply borrowing them. That done, on with the story! 

**Christams Music** - Chapter One 

Christmas. A time for peace. A time for forgiving. And a time for love. 

Tiny snowflakes softly settled onto the pavement, the pure white creating a beautiful winter scenery of crystal and blue. The setting sun added a hint of deep crimson, and the whole city, with its bright lights and buzzing noises, seemed strangely peaceful, as if it too were watching this spectacle of beauty. 

The young blond sighed. He loved Christmas. Every year, he would come and visit his family for the annual feast, and every year he would read the christmas story, while the family gathered around him to listen. The story never changed, but they never seemed to tire of it. Why was a mystery to him. 

This year, his father asked him to invite some friends. Now that they had finished building the extension, he wanted to have as many guests as possible, and Quatre was happy to oblige. He had always wanted to introduce Trowa to the family. And since both of them were going, he had persuaded his friends Heero, Duo and WuFei to come along as well. 

Yes, Quatre loved Christmas, and this year was going to be his best, and last, ever. 

----- 

"Come on, hurry up with that!" the chinese man yelled from the car, as the braided boy dragged a large suitcase through the snow. 

"I could use some help, you know," Duo muttered through short breaths. He finally reached the boot of the car, where Heero helped him get it in. Exhausted, he sat himself in the back of the car, behind Wufei. 

"Where are Trowa and Quatre?" he asked, "Aren't they out yet?" 

"They're just coming out," WuFei pointed at the couple, then winced slightly. "Look at how pale he's become. His skin's just as white as the snow." 

"Yeah," Duo mumbled quietly. 

Carefully supporting Quatre to the car, the tall man handed a small suitcase to Heero, who promptly put it in the boot with the rest of the bags. He then opened the back door for them to get in, and sat down at the front. 

"Right, we got everything?" Heero asked, and looked about to see everyone's nods. "Alright, let's go." 

Starting the car, he rolled out of his parking space, and slowly drove through the cold winter morning. 

----- 

Iman(1) Winner sighed in satisfaction, as he looked over his masterpiece. In his hands, he was holding a beautifully carved violin, it's curves smooth, and the wood new and shiny. It was perfect. Perfect in every way, just like all his violins, except for one, little detail. At the back of it, the wood had a dark, black mark, and as much as he tried sanding and moulding it, it wouldn't go away. 

"Father! Quatre's home!" one of his many daughters peeked through the door of the workshop. "Hurry up!" 

Mr. Winner lightened up at the sound of his only son's name, and placed the violin and its bow back in the case. He hurried out of the room, and towards the hall, where he heard the muffled sounds of conversation. As he entered, he caught sight of his son and four other men surrounded by his daughters, who were buzzing about, asking each of them millions of questions. 

Seeing their distress, the old father called over the crowd, "Girls, girls! Please, let Quatre and his friends get some rest. You can ask as many questions as you like at dinner, ok?" Quatre smiled thankfully at his father, and nodded at the others. 

Leading the way upstairs, he whispered apologetically towards his friends, "Sorry about that. We hardly get any guests this far out in the country." 

"Don't worry about that, Q," Duo winked, "If I weren't gay, this would be a haven for me. 29 sisters, huh? Wow!" 

"Shh! Not too loud!" Quatre hissed, "Remember, my father doesn't know about my... preferences. And I'd like it to stay that way for a while, ok?" 

"Sorry." 

During this little exchange between Quatre and Duo, they had arrived on the top floor and newly build extension; the guest's wing. Showing them four different doors, the blond asked, "You sure you don't mind sleeping in separate rooms?" 

"Don't worry about it," Trowa replied reassuringly, "We already told you back home. We won't do anything... suggestive." The other three nodded at that. 

After each of them had chosen a room, Trowa accompanied Quatre to his own room, a floor lower down. Because of his friend's condition, Trowa had insisted on carrying his suitcase, as well. 

Outside the bedroom door, they stopped. 

"Thanks, Trowa. For everything," the little blond smiled weakly up at his lover, azure eyes meeting emerald. 

"Shall I carry these in for you?" 

"Yes, thank you." 

The two of them entered the room, and promptly closed the door again. In a flash, Trowa had dropped the bag on the floor, and sweeped Quatre off his feet. Kissing the blond boy softly on his lips, he carried him to his bed, and lay him on it. 

After breaking their embrace, Trowa looked away, so that his lover would not see his tears. Unfortunately, he moved too slowly, as Quatre had spotted them. Propping up on his elbows, he gazed at the tall boy questioningly. 

Realizing Quatre was looking at him, Trowa looked back, eyes shimmering with spilled sorrow, "Quat--" 

"Shh." Quatre lay a firm finger on the other's lips, then softly kissed them, not knowing what else to say or do. Feeling a storm of helplessness whirl up in him, he tightened the embrace in a silent cry for help. 

----- 

They spend the rest of the evening talking in Quatre's room, until Irea, one of his sisters, came to call them down to dinner. 

Downstairs, the entire family, plus the other three, were already seated at a very large and very long dinner table. The dining room, too, was quite big, and was beautifully decorated with Christmas angels. In one corner stood a glorious tree, glowing its own golden lights. Numerous presents were already placed underneath it, and candles were scattered around the room, lighting it all up. 

On one side of the room was a fireplace, with a few stockings pinned to it for the children, and on the other side were several family pictures. Most of them were of Quatre's sisters, but there was one of him as a little boy, carefully playing the violin. Another one was of him and his father holding each other. At the top of the little gallery was a portrait of a single woman, too old to be any of the sisters. She had platinum blonde hair and azure eyes, and looked strangely similar to Quatre. She was holding a violin to her chin, and a bow to its strings, her eyes closed to a silent tune. 

She was beautiful. Angelic. 

Gazing at this portrait, Trowa quietly asked Quatre who she was. 

"She was my mother. I never met her, as she died at my birth, but I was told that she was an excellent violinist," her replied, "My father loved her greatly. He hasn't remarried since." 

"Quatre!" his father called from the door, and walked over to his son, a young lady following closely, "There you are. Enjoying the meal, Mr. Barton?" he asked politely. 

"Yes, thank you," he replied softly, and turned to watch Duo stuff his mouth with turkey. 

"Good to hear. Quatre?" he said, turning to his son, "Meet Miss Relena Dorlian. She is the daughter of my business associate Mr. Dorlian. I hope you'll get to know each other." He winked subtly, and offered the lady the chair next to Quatre's. 

"Thank you," she said, and sat down. Turning to the blond next to her, she smiled nervously, "Hi." 

"Hello." 

"..." 

"..." 

"..." 

"..." 

"..." 

"Can you pass the gravy please?" 

---------- 

(1) I'm not actually sure what Mr.Winner's forename is, so I just took the one Lady Ophelia used in her story Inheritance. I hope she doesn't mind. If she does, I'll change it as soon as possible! 

Sorry, I know it's a bit short, and doesn't really explain what's going on yet, but I'll update soon again. And don't forget to review, please! I live on feedback. 


	2. Chapter Two

Christmas music2 **Author's Note**: Here's the second part. I don't think it's as good as the first, but please give it a try! Thanks. ^_^****

**Warning**: Shonen Ai, AU. That's all for now. More warnings for later chapters. 

**Disclaimer**: Both Gundam Wing and Touched by an Angel do _not_ belong to me. I am simply borrowing them. That done, on with the story! 

**Christmas Music** - Chapter Two 

After dinner, Mr. Winner persuaded Quatre and his friends to join him in his workshop. Proudly showing him his latest work, the violin from before, he announced, "I call it Quaterine - after your mother. Originally, I made it for her, but I think you will make better use of it." 

Quatre smiled weakly, and took the violin in his hands. Softly stroking the elegant instrument, he smiled. Suddenly, his expression turned into stone, and he placed it back on the table, "It's not Christmas yet, father. And besides, you know I stopped playing." 

"Why, I've never understood," Mr. Winner sighed disappointed. "Please, can't you just play one piece for me? You used to love playing for me. Please?" he repeated, seeing that his efforts were failing, "Make it my Christmas present - that's all I want!" 

Quatre coughed softly, causing the others to share a few worried glances among themselves. 

"Maybe later. I'm not up to it at the moment," he replied softly. 

----- 

Back in his room, Quatre lay down on his bed, exhausted. Trowa was seated beside him, stroking his head absent mindedly. 

"I never knew you played the violin," Trowa said, breaking the mild silence. 

"I don't," was the short reply. 

"Why not? It would make your father happy." 

"Could we just drop the subject?" Quatre suddenly yelled, making Trowa wince. He had hit a rough spot. 

"I'm sorry." 

"No, don't be." The blonde's voice had become softer. He weakly propped himself up with his elbows, in order to look his lover in the eyes. Unfortunately, this just caused him to cough violently, and he quickly lay back down. 

"I don't understand why you refuse to get treated," Trowa said after the coughing died down, a hint of anger in his voice. 

"I don't deserve it," Quatre stated, and turned away from the tall boy. 

Suddenly, a knock was heard on the door, and Iman Winner's voice sounded outside, "Quatre? May I come in, please?" 

Quatre quickly sat up, and Trowa left his seat in order to open the door. 

"Oh, good evening, Mr. Barton," Mr. Winner said, surprised at finding the boy in his son's room this late in the evening. 

"I was just leaving," he replied, and did just that. 

Not occupying his thoughts with Trowa's quick departure, Iman entered the room, closing the door behind him. 

"Quatre--" he began, then stopped himself, unsure of what to say. He took a deep breath, and tried again, "I'm sorry, Quatre. I do this every year, don't I?. It's just that... I finished the violin in the selfish hopes that you'd regain your love for music." The old man walked closer, and sat down next to him on the bed. 

"Don't worry about it, father. I know you mean well." 

Mr. Winner sighed in relief, then, after a moment's silence, smiled broadly, "What did you think of Relena? She's pretty, isn't she?" 

Quatre shrugged, "Yeah, I guess so." Then he eyed his father suspiciously, "You're not trying to set me up with some rich girl you've only met a few hours ago, are you?" 

Iman looked at the boy defensively, "Who, me? Nah! 'Course not!" Then he grinned, "She's perfect for you! She's visiting this university somewhere in England - can't remember the place - and she's studying to be a lawyer. She's really ambitious, and her views on politics fascinate me!" 

"Politics?" was the not-so-enthusiastic reply. 

"Yes, son. Also, she does a lot of work in charity and such. I think she's perfect for you!" 

"I think not." 

"Why's that?" 

"I've just met her. I can't really base a whole future on that!" 

Mr. Winner sighed in frustration, "Quatre, you have to commit yourself sooner or later. Someday, I will be gone, and I need an heir to take over the business when I am. I'm not going to live forever!" 

The blond rolled his eyes, "Yes, yes. We've had this conversation before. But I'm only 21, father." 

"And when _are _you going to be old enough? In five years? In ten?" the old man's voice started rising, now. 

Suddenly Quatre decided that this was it. He had to tell him sooner or later, and it may as well have been now. 

"Dad... I won't be _there_ in five years..." Looking up to see his father's expression, he saw plain confusion on his old features. 

"What do you mean by that? Of course you'll be there in..." he trailed off, a strange lump of fear forming in his throat. He hoped that this wasn't what he thought it meant. Yes, he had noticed that the boy was strangely pale and weak, but he had simply dismissed it as tiredness from the journey. 

"I... I have acute Leukaemia," Quatre said softly, almost inaudibly. 

A thick wave of silence followed that phrase, as father and son both looked each other in the eyes, one pair filled with sadness, the other with shock and fear. 

"Leukaemia?" Mr. Winner finally managed to say. Quatre nodded weakly. "How far is it?" 

"I'm at the early stages, I think. I'm not sure. I haven't seen the doctor since the diagnosis." 

"You mean you're not being treated?" was the horrified reply. Another nod. "Why not?" 

"I don't deserve it," Quatre repeated what he said to Trowa, and felt a sudden jolt of guilt. He shouldn't have come home. All he was doing was ruining the festivities. He was such a failure. A failure to Trowa, and a failure to his family. He would never be the son his father wanted, and could never be enough for someone so kind as his lover. 

"Don't be stupid! What do you mean 'you don't deserve it'? Of course you do! You're my son!" Iman ruffled the boy's blond bangs in affection. 

Here it came. 

He _had _to tell him, now. Quatre hated lying, especially to his father. He took a deep breath, held, then slowly released it. Starting to fiddle with the tail of his shirt, a sure sign of nervousness, he started to speak, "I am not the son you want... I... " another deep breath, "... I-I am ... gay." There, he said it. All of a sudden, he felt a huge weight leave his chest, and he felt a strange peacefulness at finally coming to terms with it. Smiling, he repeated, "I am gay!" 

He looked up at his father to see his response, and hoped to find the same relief in his expression, as he had now found in himself. 

But instead, he found something very different. The old man's face showed an expression mixed with shock, anger and disgust. Without saying a word, Mr. Winner stood up and left the room, leaving Quatre more confused than ever before 

--------- 

Ooh, dramatic. Sorry, but I hope you liked it. Too much dialogue? Not enough description? The other way around? Please tell me! And please review! 


	3. Chapter Three

Christmas music3 **Author's Note**: Third part up! Wheew! This took me longer than the other two, and I put an extra bit of drama in this because... I felt like it. Please tell me what you think - it helps me improve my writing, which I really need to do. So, read and review! Please? 

**Warning**: Shonen Ai, AU. Implications of self-mutilation. 

**Disclaimer**: Both Gundam Wing and Touched by an Angel do _not_ belong to me. I am simply borrowing them. That done, on with the story! 

**Christmas Music** - Chapter Three 

The next morning, Quatre awoke in his bed, his neck stiff and his shirt crumpled. Having been too preoccupied with his thoughts the night before, he had forgotten to change into his pyjamas, and drifted off into unsettling dreams. 

Now he was wide awake, almost having forgotten about his conversation with his father. Quickly, he got dressed into fresh clothes, and opened the window to let in the cool morning air. Taking deep breaths, he looked out over the Winner mansion's garden, and the forests behind it, both covered in thick, white snow. 

Shivering slightly, Quatre turned away, and headed downstairs for breakfast. He and his friends were planning to try out some winter sports, especially since this was WuFei's first winter here. He couldn't wait, despite his condition. 

Reaching the dining hall, he noticed that only a few of his sisters had bothered to wake up this early, and that only Heero, prompt and perfect as always, had joined them. No doubt, the others were still asleep. 

Quatre waved at the Japanese, and made his way towards him, when a sudden wave of nausea hit him, and his knees started to buckle. In a flash, the poor boy collapsed in a heap on the floor, his expression full of pain. 

"Quatre!" his sisters cried out, but before they could anything, Heero had rushed over to his friend, kneeling down beside him 

"Quatre," his face remained as stony as ever, but his eyes revealed rare concern, "Are you all right?" 

"It... hurts," the blond managed to say between short breaths. He winced, and put a hand to his head in an automatic reaction. 

"I'll carry you back to your room," Heero decided, but Quatre shook his head, weakly trying to sit up. By now, his sisters had gathered in a circle around the two of them. 

"What's going on?" a voice sounded from the door. The circle parted, revealing Irea. As she saw her little brother on the floor, her eyes widened in shock. 

"Dear God, Quatre!" she rushed to his other side, opposite Heero, and took his pale hand in hers, "What's wrong?" 

"N-nothing," the blond said before Heero could respond. "I just slipped." 

"It didn't _look_ like you were slipping," Heero's concern washed over with anger, now. 

Quatre shot him a glare, then slowly stood up with the help of his sisters, who had accepted his excuse. Sitting down at the long table, he thanked them for their help, and breakfast was resumed as if nothing had happened. 

Heero snorted, and sat back down, as well. He'd have to have a serious talk with him later. 

----- 

"Everyone ready?" WuFei looked back at the group, each of them packed in warm winter jackets, scarves, gloves and boots. Both Heero and Duo had skis on their feet and poles in their hands, Trowa had his boots secured to a snowboard and WuFei and Quatre were holding their respective sledges in their hands, ready for some action. 

Everyone nodded enthusiastically. 

After breakfast, Heero had pulled the young blond aside, and threatened that if something like this would happen again, he'd take Quatre to a hospital and get him treated, if he liked it or not. He was even going to drag him there, if necessary. Quatre reluctantly agreed, as long as the others weren't told about this incident. 

Now, Heero had taken it upon himself to watch over his friend, which the latter did not really appreciate. 

'For heaven's sake, I'm 21 years old. I don't need some nanny to look after me,' Quatre thought, as the five of them started moving. 'I'll have to find a way to get him off my back, but it won't be easy.' Feeling like a giddy ten year old all over again, he started scheming his little plan. 

They had decided to split up in two directions, Trowa and Duo taking the left, while the rest took the right. After having inspected the area thoroughly on a map, Heero had chosen a 'suitable' slope just outside the forest. As they reached it, Quatre peeked down the hill, and rolled his eyes. 

"You call this a hill? This is a bump! I know a place a lot better than this. Follow me!" and without waiting, he made a determined route towards the thick woods. The other two shrugged, and curiously followed their friend. They marched through the forest (which was a bit difficult for Heero, considering that he still had his skis on), and stopped on the other side of it, where they found themselves at the top of a slope, which could only be described as... suicide. 

Both Heero and WuFei eyed the enthusiastic blond, who had already sat himself on his sledge. Quirking an eyebrow up at them, he grinned, "You up for it?" 

"Uh... I'm a bit new to this winter sports thing, so... I'll let you go first," WuFei replied nervously, staring down the steep hill. 

Not bothering to hear Heero's answer (which he knew was going to be a lecture about his health), Quatre shrugged and pushed himself down the slope... and into hell (Oooh, dramatic. Err - sorry). 

The two boys at the top of the slope just blinked, as they watched a blue, yellow and brown smudge speed down, a faint echo of "Yahooooooooooooooo" reaching them. When Quatre finally reached the bottom, he stood up, picked up the sledge, turned to stick his tongue out at the confused Heero, and legged it through the forest. 

After a moment's silence, WuFei asked, "What just happened?" 

Heero blinked, "I have no idea." 

----- 

Giggling to himself in sheer giddiness, Quatre sprinted past the trees. He hadn't felt so alive in a long time, and he wanted to preserve the moment. The rest of that day, he spent going from hill to hill, and slope to slope, investigating these little areas he had always found so interesting as a boy, but was never allowed to get near to, went through all his hiding spots and to that clearing he often spent most of his time in. He hadn't even realized how much time he had spent out there, until he glanced at his watch, which was around four, and the sky started to darken. 

'I'd better get back. All this goofing around... I'd better refuel, so I don't collapse again..." as soon as that thought passed through his mind, he felt a jolt of pain in his head and legs. 

"Arrgh!" Quatre cried out, then quickly bit his lips to keep himself from screaming. If the others were nearby, they might find him, and stop him from going outside altogether. And he didn't want that. He wanted his last few days to be the best of his life - to enjoy them, not be cooped up in a stuffy room. The blond hadn't told them this, but just before they left for the holidays, he went for a check-up with his doctor, and the news weren't good. 

He was going to die, soon. 

Quatre collapsed into the snow. The coolness of it jolted him even more, and suddenly everything hit him like a flash. His father despised him. And now, he was going to die. Die a failure. Die to be the son no one wanted. 

The conversation from the night before resurfaced, his father's reaction, the tears he had spilled afterwards, and the loneliness... It seemed more like a dream than reality. 

"Father," Quatre whispered. 

He tried to get up again, but resulted in rolling onto his back, instead. Slowly, the cold became less painful, and rather welcoming... 

The blond shivered. He had to get up. Now. 

Determined, Quatre rolled back onto his stomach and was weakly able to sit up with the little support his arms gave him. He breathed a sigh, and then sat himself on his sledge, which he had dropped next to him in his fall. 

From far away, he could hear faint voices calling his name. As they got closer, he began to recognize them. It was Trowa and Duo, he was sure of that. Their voices were unmistakable. 

"Trowa, Duo!" he called out himself, and waited for a reply. 

He could hear a faint, "Quatre?" and soon, they found their little friend. Without hesitation, Trowa picked up his lover and pressed a kiss on his lips, "I was worried about you." 

Quatre huffed, "Aren't I allowed to have some time to myself?" 

"Not in your condition," Duo replied sternly, but relief was evident in his features, "We thought that you had passed out or something. I know Heero and WuFei can be pains in the ass at times, " he winked, "but next time, use the old fashioned snow ball." 

Soon, they returned to the Winner mansion, where Heero and WuFei were already waiting. Heero didn't bother with a lecture, but instead send an effective glare in Quatre's general direction. 

His father also came rushing up, and hugged his son tightly. 

"I was only gone for a few hours, sheesh," Quatre mumbled. 

Mr. Winner pulled back, and suddenly gave his son a hard smack on his cheek. 

"F-father?" Quatre stepped back, shocked, and put his pale hand on the offended skin. 

Without saying a word, the old man left the room, and headed towards the workshop. After a moment of daze, the blond hurried after Mr. Winner. 

"Father! We need to talk. Please, listen to me!" Quatre pulled at the other's arm, but was just shrugged off. "Father!" 

Suddenly, Iman Winner turned around, his face stone cold, "Don't call me that." He entered the workshop, and slammed the door behind him. 

Not being deterred from his goal, the boy followed. Inside, Iman was holding the violin, Quaterine, in his hands. He didn't even bother looking up, as he said, "Why did you come back? Couldn't you have just left us alone... why did you choose Christmas?" 

"We _have_ to talk about this," Quatre begged. 

"Not now. It's Christmas Eve tomorrow, for heaven's sake!" he slammed the violin on the table. 

"Then when _are_ we going to talk about this? Easter? Mom's anniversary? Your birthday? I only come home on those occasions, so when are we going to talk about it?" 

"Not _now_!" he yelled. 

"Dad, there might not be another chance after Christmas," the boy's voice had obvious frustration in it, as he tried to get through to his father. "I don't have a lot of time left." 

"Why did you come back?" Mr. Winner repeated, "Why did you have to spoil Christmas for all of us?" 

Fury boiled up in Quatre. "I don't believe you! I can't believe you're so ignorant! Do you have any idea what I went through? When I realized that I was different? When I realized that I was gay? I didn't think so." He pulled up his left sleeve and held his arm out for his father to see. Faint criss-cross marks had scared the alabaster skin, almost like a grid or a map that had faded over the years. 

"Do you see this, father?" the boy continued, tears threatening to spill buried memories, "This is what happens when you feel you're not good enough. Not good enough for your father, not good enough for your friends, and not good enough for yourself. A mistake. A queer - Something one has always been taught to despise. Something so disgusting, all you want to do is hide in a corner and die. When you're afraid that the world will find out, and that it will reject and despise you in turn, as well, and even your own father won't look you in the eyes." Quatre's voice had broken, now, revealing all the year's worth of self-loathing he had subjected himself under. 

And quietly he repeated, "This is what happens." 

Mr. Winner stood still, not moving a muscle, not knowing what to say, his feelings mixed and torn one way and another, not knowing which one was right. 

Quatre bit his lip in an attempt to suppress his emotions, and not break down right here and now. Softly, he continued, "I-I tried committing suicide, you know. On more than one occasion, but I was too afraid and too much of a coward to go through with it." He paused, "I hated myself - and I still do." 

Mr. Winner looked up, his expression unreadable and undecided. Quatre felt his gaze fall upon him, and he lifted his head, his eyes shifting from his father onto the violin. 

"The reason I stopped playing the violin was because... because, whenever you built one, you moulded and carved it into perfect shape, with perfect wood and perfect equipment... But I wasn't perfect. That was the problem. Perfect violins need perfect players. I felt unworthy of it, so... I stopped." 

Quatre shuddered at having opened up so widely, something he rarely did. Some of this he hadn't even told Trowa, the one person he trusted the most. 

And here he was pouring his heart out at a man who was disgusted by the very thought of him. 

Slowly, the blond looked back into the mirroring dark eyes, and hoped for a smile - anything - that expressed acknowledgement for him. 

But all he got was silence. 

Yet he waited for Iman's reaction, but the man seemed more like a statue than anything else. 

Suddenly, Mr. Winner's eyes narrowed dangerously, and his expression of indecision turned into something much darker. "Get out," he said, "Get out of my house, and never come back." 

Quatre's eyelids lowered in defeat, and he nodded slowly in acceptance. Leaving the room without saying another word, the sound of shuffling feet seemed to pierce through the silence. 

----- 

Quatre walked out of the workshop, and through the long hallways of the mansion, ignoring the questions his friends had directed at him. His speed increased slightly as he did so, not wanting and unable to speak right now. He marched to the front door, and opened it, letting a cool evening breeze ruffle his blond bangs. He shivered slightly, then stepped outside, making a direct route for... anywhere. Just away from here. He broke into a run, frantic tears flowing down his cheeks. Ignoring them, he continued running through the darkness. That's all he wanted to do. Run. Run away from everything, and be left in peace. 

'Keep running, Quatre. That's what you're best at, remember?' a sinister voice said in his mind. 

"No!" he cried out. 

He tripped, and fell headfirst into the cold snow, the iciness of it striking him like a bullet to the heart. He tried to get up again, but his arms failed him, and all he could do was lie there, shivering. He started coughing violently, and his breathing became hard and shallow. 

He whispered, "Cold... so... cold." and smiled faintly. 

'What is the point?' he thought softly, as the darkness closed around him, and all his troubles fell away. 'It's not like anyone cares.' His mind and body relaxed, as these thoughts raced through his head. 

'Stop breathing... stop... breathing," he thought calmly to himself, 'Just stop--' 

---------   
  



	4. Chapter Four

**Author's Note**: Almost finished with this fic. I'm actually quite proud of it. My first GW chapter story! Even though hardly anyone reviewed, but hey. Can't do anything about that except beg: Please review! It helps. Sorta. Errm, never mind. Right, before I continue rambling, a note about this chapter: It has some biblical references which I might have gotten wrong in few places, since I'm not really a christian myself. I'm sorry if I did, and it's not supposed to offend anyone. Thank you for taking the time to read this. 

**Warning**: Shonen Ai, AU. Implications of self-mutilation and _one_ swear word - I think. O_O 

**Disclaimer**: Both Gundam Wing and Touched by an Angel do _not_ belong to me. I am simply borrowing them. 

**Christmas Music** - Chapter Four 

Thick eyelashes fluttered open, and squinted at the bright light of the sun. 

"Good morning, little one," a voice sounded, so soft, Quatre wondered if he had just imagined it. 

Tilting his head to the side, he saw Trowa sit beside his bed, a small smile gracing his features. 

Quatre blinked at his lover, and croaked, "Where am I?" 

"In the local hospital. Heero and I found you unconscious in the snow, after your argument with Mr. Winner," Trowa's visible eye glinted with something Quatre couldn't quite place. 

Looking about his surroundings, he found himself in a small room furnished with only one bed, a night stand and a chair. On his left was a big window, its curtains withdrawn, letting in the bright, morning sunlight. The air had the telltale hospital smell of disinfectant about it, as well. 

Trying to sit up, Quatre felt a sting in his arm, and found an IV line eased into the crook of his elbow. He slowly took it out, and turned his head towards Trowa. 

Seeing the frown on the other's face, the blond asked, "What's wrong?" 

"Why didn't you tell me?" Trowa asked softly after a short pause. 

Feeling a lump form in his throat, he tried to answer, but his voice failed him. Silently cursing himself, he tried again, "Tell you what?" 

"About your condition... and your father..." he paused, "Don't you trust me?" 

Before Quatre could respond, the door opened, and three young ladies, one of them Irea, entered the room. Each one of them was holding a wrapped package in her hands, and cheerfully greeted their brother. 

"Merry Christmas Eve," Irea said, "Not all of us could come, but Becca, Vicci and I were able to sneak away." she smiled, and subtly pointed at the other two ladies while saying their names. 

"Thank you," Quatre smiled gratefully up at Irea for introducing his two sisters to him. It was always hard to remember each of their names. 

"Here," Becca stepped forward and handed her package to the boy. The others did the same, as the woman continued, "We thought we'd give you some of your presents early. Must be a drag spending all day in hospital, huh?" 

"Shame you can't come to the feast this evening," Vicci added, "I guess you won't be able to read the Christmas story this year, will you?" 

"No, sorry," Quatre shook his head, "but I'm sure one of you can fill in for me." 

"It won't be the same without you, though," Irea sighed. 

A pause. 

"Do you know anything about father?" the blond asked hesitantly. 

Vicci rolled her eyes, "Stubborn as always." 

"You have to understand," Irea explained, "He's very old fashioned, but I know he loves you and, in time, will grow to accept your preferences. He's just too stubborn to admit that, at the moment." 

"So, you heard the entire argument?" the boy asked. 

All of them, including Trowa, nodded. 

"I see..." Quatre sighed. He looked down, and realized that he had been playing with the tail of his shirt in a nervous habit. 

There was a moment's silence, when suddenly all three sisters at once came forward, and hugged the surprised boy. As they pulled back, he spotted faint tears in their eyes, but they were swiftly wiped away. 

"We can't stay long, but... we'll come visit again tomorrow, ok Quat-sweety?" Becca kissed the crown of his head. 

"You don't have to do that for me. Really, I'll be fine," he smiled. 

"Don't you worry about that. You take care now, ok?" Irea replied, and the three ladies slowly left the room, saying their separate goodbyes. 

Looking down at the presents on his lap, Quatre decided to open them the next morning, like tradition demanded. He placed them on his night stand, and looked back at Trowa, who had silently watched this little scene of affection. 

"Are the others coming?" the blond asked hopefully. 

"They should be here any minute," he took a deep breath, then asked, "Why didn't you tell me about how serious your condition is, or didn't you know?" his calmness was wearing off, trying not to explode in a burst of emotions. 

Quatre leaned back, and turned his head away from the tall boy, "I knew." 

"Then why didn't you tell me?" Trowa yelled, regretting his tone of voice the moment the words left his lips. 

Quatre winced, "It was too late to do anything when I heard how far the disease had spread, and I wanted to enjoy my last few days, not spend them in a hospital." 

"But why didn't you want to get treated in the first place?" was the frustrated reply. 

"I... I felt unworthy," he lowered his eyelids, but widened them in shock when he heard Trowa's answer to that. 

"That's bullshit! You know it is!" 

Quatre shrugged, "Either way, there's nothing anyone can do about it anymore." 

Trowa fell silent at that. He leaned back into his seat in defeat, and didn't look up when he heard the door open. 

"Yo, Quatre!" Duo smiled cheerfully, followed by a solemn-as-always Heero and an undecided WuFei. Pressing a bunch of flowers into the other's hands, Duo plumped himself down onto the white hospital bed. Heero and WuFei positioned themselves by the window, and everyone waited for someone else to say something. 

"Um... thanks for the flowers," Quatre tried breaking the mild tension. 

"That's ok. We got them this morning at this flower shop, just outside, and you won't _believe _what those two have been up to," Duo grinned, and pointed at the two by the window. 

And the conversations started off. The five of them talked for hours about simply anything; of how Miss Relena always seemed to stalk the poor Heero, how Duo almost got caught stealing some cookies from the kitchen that morning and about WuFei being... just plain old WuFei. 

As the hour neared the end of visiting time, they promised to visit again that evening. Heero, Duo and WuFei went ahead, to let the other two have some privacy. 

After lingering on a question that had been nagging on his mind for a while, Quatre decided to just said it outright, "Are you going to tell them... about my condition?" 

"Yeah. I think it's for the best." 

"Alright," Quatre nodded, "If you think so, just go ahead. It doesn't really matter, anyway." 

Trowa nodded. After a moment's silence, he lent down towards Quatre, and softly embraced the other in a tender kiss. His tongue eased the other's lips open, and slowly massaged and explored the blonde's mouth. 

Quatre, wanting to savour this moment as long as possible, snaked his arms around his lover's neck, and pulled him down slightly. Feeling a tad bold, he let his own tongue stroke Trowa's softly, making the other shudder. 

Neither one wanted to end this moment, but slowly pulled apart, both of them breathless. 

Quatre grinned up at his lover cheekily, while Trowa smiled subtly. 

"I love you," the blond said, after catching his breath again 

Trowa's smile brightened at those three words, and replied softly, "I love you, too." 

----- 

"He misses you." 

Iman Winner undecidedly pretended to be busy tuning up Quaterine, while listening to his daughter. 

"Father, please. Don't be so hard on Quatre," Irea pleaded. "Nowadays it is socially more common to be a homosexual, and society has become a lot more tolerant over the years. Why aren't you?" 

Mr. Winner carefully put the violin back in its case, and looked back at his daughter, "I'm not sure of how to deal with this... I... doesn't it say in the Bible that a man and another man are not allowed to be together?" 

"Those words are ancient beliefs written by _people. _And those did not even come directly from God (1). It is God you believe in, not people who just use him as a source of power and influence - those were your very own words," Ire reasoned. 

"You know... it's not really that I'm that much disgusted by him... it's... Quaterine died for him. Quaterine, the person I loved more than anything in the world - the most loving, caring - perfect person I could ever hope for. I was... disappointed when her son was not," Iman replied softly. Even now it was hard for him to talk about his late wife. Quickly, he turned away from his daughter. 

Irea could clearly see the tears that had threatened to fall. She didn't want to push the subject, but she didn't want Quatre to die without this being sorted out, either. 

She slowly stepped forward and took her fathers hands in hers, and forced him to look into her eyes, "Father. Don't you see? He _is_ perfect - in his own way. His resemblance to mother is shocking in every way. He has her kind heart, her understanding, her ability to love... The only difference is that Quatre isn't limited to loving only women - He is able to go beyond that. It's just that he has chosen a man over a woman. That's what disturbs you, isn't it?" 

Taking all of this information in at once, Mr. Winner did not know what to say. His thoughts and feelings were mixed, torn and twisted into every possible direction. A fierce battle waged inside him, and he didn't even know what side he was on. 

After what seemed an eternity to Iman, but was in reality only a few seconds, he whispered, "But... I... I don't know, Irea. I don't know what I think anymore. What I'm supposed to do." 

"If you can't seek advice from me, then talk to your son. Ask him how _he _feels." 

"He already told me, yesterday," Iman's voice cracked slightly, "But I pushed him away. What kind of a father am I?" 

He pulled away from the young woman, and headed towards the door. 

"Where are you going?" Irea asked. 

"Somewhere where I can think." 

----- 

Iman Winner entered the sacred building, the shuffling of his feet echoing softly around the hall. 

The chapel was a beautiful piece of art. On either side were stained glass windows, each showing a different story from the Bible. Rows and rows of chairs filled the hall, only a red carpet parting it, which led down to the alter. A statue of a saint was placed in each corner of the chapel, and at the alter were two candles burning brightly in front of a figure of God's son, Jesus, on a cross just before he died. The air was warm and comforting, and smelled of roses and burning incense. The hall was completely empty, safe for Mr. Winner and a single person sitting in the front row. 

Mr. Winner slowly moved towards the towering statue of Jesus, and sat down on a chair in one of the front rows. 

And there he just sat, in the tranquility of this sacred house. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the other person bowing his head in silent prayer, and decided to do the same. 

He prayed for his son, his family, and for God to show him the way to go. Against everything he had ever been taught, or against his own son? 

After minutes of whispered prayers, he looked up again. The other occupant had now lifted his head, and gazed at the statue. Looking more closely at the man, he recognized him to be Chang WuFei - one of Quatre's friends. Perhaps he would be able to give the old father advice. It was better than nothing. 

Quietly, Iman slipped out of his row, and sat down next to WuFei. 

"Good evening. I hope I'm not disturbing you," Mr. Winner whispered politely. 

"Not at all, sir," WuFei replied, his gaze still fixed onto the statue. 

"May... may I ask you a question?" 

The chinese blinked, and turned to look at the old man, curiosity in his eyes. 

"Do... you think I'm being... too hard on Quatre?" 

"Yes," he replied without hesitation. 

"Oh," ashamed, Iman looked down, and stared at his lap. 

"I understand your point of view," WuFei continued, "but I would never choose anything above family... not even honour or justice. I'd do anything for my family, if I still had one." 

"I'm sorry..." Iman replied, not knowing what else to say. 

Looking back up at the figure of Jesus, the chinese said, "I'm not really a christian - or anything else. But I felt compelled to pray to Quatre's god for his health. He doesn't have a lot of time left. He had lied about his condition - to all of us, and I'm afraid that..." Even though he hadn't finished the sentence, Mr. Winner knew what he had meant. 

After a moment's silence, he asked, "What time is it?" 

"23:17" 

"Then I must hurry." 

Watching Mr. Winner quickly get up and exit the chapel, WuFei could not help but smile. He knew where the old man was headed. 

Bowing in respect before the alter (2) before leaving, he too exited the building, and made a direct route through the cold winter night. 

--------- 

(1) I'm doing this from memory so, if I got something wrong in the Bible, sorry. This is not supposed to offend anyone, but if it _is _ wrong, I'm going to keep it that way because it fits into the plot.   
(2) I know you're not supposed to worship an image of God but a) it was an image of Jesus and b) WuFei didn't know that.   
  



	5. Chapter Five

**Author's Note**: This is not the end! There's still an epilogue to follow, which will be uploaded the same time as this is. This chapter's a bit short, but I hope it has served its purpose. And as always, please read and review! 

**Warning**: Shonen Ai, AU. Deathfic. 

**Disclaimer**: Both Gundam Wing and Touched by an Angel do _not_ belong to me. I am simply borrowing them. 

**Christmas Music** - Chapter Five 

"May I come in?" 

Looking up, Quatre found Iman Winner shivering in the doorway, tiny white snowflakes resting on his coat and dark hair. 

Surprised at finding him there, the blond nodded dumbfoundedly. 

Closing the door behind him, Mr. Winner took off his coat and shook the snow off it. Placing a small, black violin case at the end of Quatre's bed, which the boy hadn't noticed before, he sat himself down on a chair. 

"Are you... mad at me?" Quatre asked finally. 

"No." 

Silence. 

Neither one knew what to say or do, and both were trapped within their own thoughts. Wild words and phrases raced through their minds, but none seemed adequate enough for the situation. Adding to that was the fear of rejection, that both men felt. 

Finally Mr. Winner sighed and softly spoke, "I'm sorry."   


The boy looked up. Those quiet words had been spoken with a tone of voice which said volumes more than anything else possibly could. Quatre could hear the shame and sadness in that phrase, with a tiny hint of deep-rooted fear which he couldn't quite place. The blond knew exactly how his father felt, and his eyes started to shimmer with bright, new hope. 

"I'm sorry, Quatre," Iman repeated, "For everything. I didn't realize how... stubborn I was, until Irea and Mr. Chang knocked some sense into me." Quatre chuckled softly. 

"It's ok. I understand." 

Iman smiled, "I though I'd play you something, so I brought Quaterine with me." 

The old man opened the violin case, and took her and the bow out of it. Turning the violin in his hands, Mr. Winner frowned at the dark mark at the back. 

"I don't know what to do about this," he said, gesturing towards the offending area. 

"It looks fine, really. As long as she can play her own tune, she is perfect," the blond promised. "May I?" 

Iman hesitantly handed the violin to his son, who lightly plucked it's strings and let his fingers glide along the polished wood. 

"It was the day before you were born," Mr. Winner explained, "When she and I went for a walk in the forests to find a tree that had been hit by lightening the night before. It was an oak tree - once towering and majestic - had been reduced to a few splinters of wood. Of course you won't remember it, though. It was truly magnificent. Quaterine was saddened when she saw that it had been destroyed. She asked me to build a violin out of its remains, and so I took a few pieces of wood with me. 

"But when she died the next day, I had a lot more to worry about. Over time, I forgot about it, and only recently, I started my project up again," nodding at the instrument in Quatre's hands, he said, "That was why I wanted you to play it." 

"Then I will make it your Christmas present," Quatre decided, and put the delicate violin to his chin, and softly placed the bow on its strings. 

Staying that way for a moment, he took a deep breath, and hoped he'd remember how to play. Slowly and hesitantly, he started moving the bow downwards, a soft note filling the air. Smiling, the boy realized that he wouldn't have to remember, for his body would simply flow with the music. Letting the bow sink further into the violin, he continued moving from one note to another, slowly forming a magical tune, mixed in with improvisation and emotion. It was a sad tune, telling a story of pain and sorrow, ended with final peace, a few crescendos working up to the finalé. Quatre could feel the vibrations under his chin, and nothing seemed to exist, but him, the violin and the sweet music that filled the air. He was lost in it. The fluid movements, the sounds, the emotions... everything. 

And he loved it. 

This was where he wanted to be, and stay for eternity - within the tranquility of his soul. 

But slowly, the tune came to an end, the last note dying down with the movement of his arm. 

And everything stopped. 

Azure eyes slowly opened, as if waking from a dream, and looked up into mirroring dark ones. 

Iman smiled proudly, but did not want to spoil the moment with unnecessary words. 

Quatre laid the instrument on his lap, and sank his head back into his pillow, tiredly. Smiling weakly, he asked, "What did you think?" 

"It was beautiful." 

Sighing in content, the boy closed his eyes again, "What time is it?" 

Iman glanced at his watch, and smiled, "00:04" 

"Merry Christmas, father." 

"Merry Christmas," the old man replied. 

Mr. Winner picked up Quaterine, and positioned the instrument into a ready pose. Stroking one of the strings softly, he too played his little tune, and music, once again, filled the air. 

Quatre, with his closed eyes, listened to the enchanting music, and felt the magic of it within him. Feeling his consciousness darken around him, all he was aware of now, were the ups and downs of the bow, as he imagined the violin and its musician standing in a spot light, all on their own. Nothing else existed. Nothing else seemed important, and the boy felt a strange peacefulness overcome him. 

Within this momentary bliss, his breathing slowed, becoming shallower, and slowly, slowly... seized. 

This was truly the best Christmas, ever. 

----- 

Opening his eyes again, Iman Winner's gaze rested on his son. The boy looked so peaceful... as if he were sleeping. His cheeks were still palely rose, but his chest did not move up and down. All he did was lie there, still and motionless. 

Realization creeping into the old man's head, his eyes widened in shock, and he carelessly let the violin fall to the ground. Clumsily, he rushed over to his son's bedside, and took the pale hand in his. He cried out the boy's name repeatedly, but in vain. No one answered. 

Behind him, he heard the door open, and soft gasps escape from someone's lips. Ignoring them, Iman dug his head into the white sheets, and sobbed. Warm tears spilled from his eyes, and spotted the fabric with moisture. 

"Quatre?" a wavered voice behind him said, recognizing it as Trowa's. 

A loud thump sounded, as the tall boy dropped to his knees, unable to do anything else. His eyes were glazed over with threatening tears, and his body shook violently. He wanted to scream. He wanted to yell. Kick, punch or die right here and now. 

But all he did was kneel there, too weak to support himself. Memories of him and his lover flashed through his mind; tiny displays of affection, hugs and kisses. The long hours they had spent in bed simply talking about everyday life... all those moments he had treasured so dearly. 

But now it was all meaningless. His _life _had become meaningless. 

His friends were standing around him, each of them too shocked themselves to say anything. The whole room was silent, except for the soft sobbing sounds that came from the old man. 

Trowa suddenly squeezed his eyes shut, and put his hands on his head in frustration. 

He opened his mouth, and screamed, the twisted tune of a tortured soul. 

-------- 

What did you think? Dramatic enough? If not, blame it on insomnia. Wrote this at about 00:40 in the morning. Not late for some people, but late for me. *Yawn* Better get the epilogue done, huh? And please review - it boosts my ego. Really, it does. Actually, that's not a good thing, is it?... Errm. Anyway, g'night. 


	6. Epilogue

**Author's Note**: I can't believe it's finally finished! I've become emotionally involved in this fic, and am quite sad to let it go. *sniff* I'm such a sap. As always, I beg you to read and review. That done, on with the story!****

**Warning**: Shonen Ai, AU. Deathfic. 

**Disclaimer**: Both Gundam Wing and Touched by an Angel do _not_ belong to me. I am simply borrowing them. 

**Christmas Music** - Epilogue 

_A year and a half later..._

The soft summer wind rustled the leaves of the young oak tree which stood at the lonely top of a hill. Under it, a small, carved gravestone, and a mix of beautiful flowers graced the scenery, and the place had an air of tranquility about it. Engraved on the stone, in large letters, were the words: 

"Quatre Raberba Winner - 1980-2001   
Loved and dearly missed by everyone's lives he has touched." 

A single figure slowly made its way up to the hill, a small collection of flowers in his hands. Reaching this sacred place, he placed them onto the grave, and stood motionless for moments which seemed an eternity. 

The figure sighed, and ran his fingers through his unibang, a single emerald eye glinting in the sunlight. 

"It's been a long time," the man finally spoke. "To tell you the truth, I hoped to avoid this place, but I found that I could not live in peace without saying a final goodbye." 

Another sigh. 

"Heero and Duo are getting married in two months, and WuFei has just proposed to his girlfriend. He'll be moving out soon, so it'll be just Heero, Duo and me. I feel like a third wheel, but I can't afford to pay rents on my own... Your sister, Salia, has just given birth to a little boy. He's so sweet. Kinda reminds me of you. Then again, he shares your name. That's right. He was called 'Quatre' in honour of you... Your father... well, I'm not quite sure about him," he sighed, "He's been working on numerous projects of his, and the Winner corporation has never been better, yet... there's an air of absence around him. I don't know... 

"Becca has had some success with her acting career, and she's going to star in this soap opera, and your other sisters... they're all fine. After Miss Relena found out that Heero was gay, she stopped pestering him, too." He chuckled, "You should have seen her face when he told her... Everyone's happy, and getting on with their lives... and I..." 

The figure hesitated, not really sure of how to convey the next piece of news. It had been hard for him to move on after Quatre Winner's death, but now... 

"I've met someone... at work. He's really great. Dark brown hair, azure eyes - kinda like yours... we've been together for four months, now. I really love him, but... he'll never be able to replace you. There'll never be anyone I'll love more. Fortune is a cruel bitch, though, and I feel our time together was just a dream - too perfect to be true. I wish... I wish I could see you again." 

He took out a small photograph from his pocket, a faded picture of a smiling blond sitting on the balcony of their apartment, under the starry night. The stars created an affect of sprinkled dust, and the flash of the camera made the boy glow in an eerie, yet angelic way. 

A single tear dropped onto this picture, and no attempt was made to wipe it away. 

"This is all I have left of you. This single picture... But I promise, I will never forget you, and I hope you won't forget me either." 

Slipping the photograph back into his pocket, the figure left the sacred hill as silently as he had approached it. Once again, the tree and the grave were left alone in tranquil bliss, never to be disturbed again. 

---owari--- 


End file.
